The Color of Evil
by Unfortunate
Summary: If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. So hate them and destroy them. And then you destroy yourself.


The Color of Evil  
  
By: Unfortunate  
  
Disclaimer: Verily disclaimed.  
  
~  
  
What color is evil? Can you imagine something so sinister to be a color?  
  
Red comes to mind. Red like my hair and red like my blood. Red is fire. Red is passion. Passion is hate.  
  
He was hate. He hated muggles. I can remember the only time he revealed that red hate for muggles in the diary to me. It was the reason I first threw my diary away, not for some silly little girl's reason. It was because my heart was pounding with fright, adrenaline rushing through my veins. I knew where dark thinking like that would take people.  
  
"Darling Virginia, you know what I really hate?" came his precise writing, so perfect and slanting.  
  
"No." I'd written back in my childish scrawl.  
  
"Muggles. They have bad blood, dirty blood. My blood. My father's blood. Not like your blood. Yours is pure, holy. I would kill to have your blood."  
  
I'd never asked who he'd kill. And never known.  
  
Red was blood. That bad blood, dirty blood, which was the cause for every muggle or mudblood killing that had ever happened. He was never evil until it came down to blood. He'd hated his and yet he killed others to rid himself of the 'taint'. So like so many others and yet so very different.  
  
Red is evil.  
  
But red is also sunsets and cherries. Red is Weasley. Red is love.  
  
So, green comes to mind. Slytherin's colors, snakes shade.  
  
Green is envy.  
  
~  
  
They were alone in a room. She didn't know where she was, but he was there so it was all okay. Nothing could hurt her. Nothing could lurk in the shadows. They were the shadows.  
  
"Tom, why was I covered in red today?" she asked. "I had to toss my new robes into the fireplace because the stain wouldn't come out," she'd said.  
  
He'd laughed lightly and idly taken her hand. The cut from the dagger hidden in his other hand was quick, painless. She was shocked of course, as a tiny trickle of liquid spilled over the tiny slice.  
  
"I envy you this blood Virginia. You're so pure. Untainted. Innocent," he said with a smile as if to say 'who-me?' She'd shuddered, but with that revulsion came a lack of control, a distance. She'd found herself in a garden of flowers.  
  
Walking, she'd seen a perfect red rose on its poisonous green stalk. She'd reached out, and touched the diaphanous blossom, but it had withered. Muscles pulling, bones snapping, and soft, soft feathers. It seemed like a horrible dream.  
  
It had been in her dream, but in the morning her pillows were bloody. She'd wondered.  
  
He'd stroked her cheek in the same manner when they were together in the Chamber. Same possessive quality. "Your blood will be mine and I'll be untainted. Never again dirty. I won't have to envy you ever again," he'd hissed through his teeth, hate in his eyes.  
  
"I'll make sure the dress they bury your body in is green, Virginia," he'd said as she shut her eyes for what she'd thought would be the last time ever.  
  
~  
  
Green is an evil color. Jealousy, possessiveness, greed. Green is a snake, slithering, biting. Envy...just another form of evil.  
  
Oh yes. Green is evil.  
  
But then, so is gold.  
  
Gold is pure, and deceptive. Gold is what a man's life is worth. Buy morals, own power. Power is dangerous. It's addictive. You crave it, and it haunts you. Gold is power. Buy someone. Sell someone. Lives are nothing in your struggle for power. The opiate of it soothes your conscious and drugs your mind with its heavy scent.  
  
Gold is glittering.  
  
Gold is alluring.  
  
Evil is beautiful. It should be considered dangerous because of that. Beauty is seductive. And, before his broken fall from grace, Lucifer was an angel. But, power made him miss a step, and it broke his wings.  
  
Angelic evil.  
  
Gold is tempting. Gold is evil.  
  
~  
  
They were in her dreams again, years later. She dreamed of him every night; saw him in the past, future, present. He was always in her eyes as young, svelte, and debonair. A fake innocence was in his eyes. Other might see him as a snake looking monster, but she saw Tom.  
  
The unreal Lord Voldemort was standing before Lucius Malfoy handing him a small sack of golden ornaments.  
  
"Make those muggle lovers suffer Lucius," hissed forth the voice of the Dark Lord. Lucius nodded and looked inside the bag before striding out of the room.  
  
Tom was lying languidly on a golden throne while the monster version of him paced and muttered, mad as any old grandmother in an asylum.  
  
"See what's happened to me Virginia," he addressed her. "See what I've become. Ordering the deaths of filthy muggle loving fools at the hands of my minions instead of making them suffer by myself..." and he sighed, looking wistful and angelic.  
  
"That's disgusting," she managed to choke out, but the room ate her words. The high velvet draped ceilings and the crystal chandelier of the ballroom made her feel shabby in her dream-clothes of golden cloth and a gold tiara. Dust caked the floor of the room.  
  
"Disgusting?" he chuckled, mildly amused. "Why Virginia, when you dream like this does the world not seem alright? You don't feel the need. I crave the power. I want it. I'd kill for it." His breath came faster. The words were betrayed by the look of childlike innocence in his cloudy blue eyes.  
  
"I feel power when I eradicate the thing that keeps me impure, mortal. Dirty blood on the Earth should feed the Earth. But, I only have corporeal form when you sleep," he said with a tragic heavy sigh. "Otherwise, I'm just a memory, locked in your mind. You let your guard down for an instant and I could be free...," he trailed off wistfully.  
  
"Why do you imprison me?" he asked with the look of a puppy being kicked on his face. "Why do you hurt me so? Have I wronged you?" he asked. She'd squeaked and taken a step back. The immortal Botticelli angel resplendent on his golden throne with those crying eyes, bleeding terrible fake tears frightened her.  
  
And when she woke her clothes were soaked and her throat sore from screaming in her sleep.  
  
~  
  
Gold is power. Gold is youthful, but gold is power.  
  
Power is evil.  
  
Orange is dangerous as well. Orange is the flames that can burn and cleanse. Flames burn in his heart, but the pure is cleansed by this torrent of biting flame. He sits there, day after day, while the corrupt flame burns away a little more of the bloom in his cheeks.  
  
But, fire is good too. It clears the deadwood, warms the hearth.  
  
Ginny loves to look at fire. She loves to play with fire.  
  
It's dangerous, but the danger adds to the chilling thrill of it all. The knowledge that if she goes too far she could be burned- that's with her. But the encompassing heat of it all... it far outweighs the risk.  
  
Blue is the opposite of orange. It's chilling.  
  
His eyes were blue. Deceptively blue. Oceans awaited in his eyes, just waiting to drown the unwary. Blue is ice. A man holding the rock sinking hopelessly to the bottom of a depthless, crushing ocean.  
  
Cold.  
  
I feel cold.  
  
Emotionless.  
  
Dying.  
  
My lips will turn blue in death.  
  
Frozen, empty, longing, ice, cold, heartless, pain, freezing, empty... Empty...  
  
~  
  
In her dreams again.  
  
They're in a dark world. The edges fade out. The little light there comes from no where, but it frames him. Shadows dance over his face. Two blue eyes are standing out of that icy skin. Pinpricks of emptiness.  
  
Too beautiful and much too cold.  
  
"See what I am, Virginia? All alone. Friendless. I hurt. You hurt me, deny me. Let me go Virginia," he moaned in a little boy's whimper. "I'm dying. You're killing me. Why are you hurting me?" he said.  
  
Sixteen at the time she'd tried to run in the shadows. Never got anywhere, he was still there, standing still in the empty light.  
  
He didn't look like this usually. He was a four year old in this form. His eyes were angels, black hair ruffled slightly, perhaps from a mother. Orphaned and alone.  
  
Blasphemous beauty, little child. Dying, languishing. He's too innocent and tiny, her mind cries. Help him!  
  
The dream fades and she wakes up in History of Magic class, her notes blurry and unreadable.  
  
Blue tears.  
  
~  
  
And there is purple. She doesn't mind purple that much. It's a calming color. Purple is a meditative, melancholy shade, reminding her of dusky nights and lavender flowers. She quite likes lavenders.  
  
But, sometimes, they make her cry. For her, lavenders are for funerals. How many pathetic little bunches had she put on Tom Riddle's wooden cross? Of course, no one knew that he was there, or who he was, except her. She'd found his body after the battle, dug him a grave, buried him in green.  
  
She remembered how he'd liked green.  
  
And he'd died, ironically, of blood loss in the end. 'So, you got what you wanted Tom, you got what you wanted', she'd think as she placed yet another bunch on the unnamed grave.  
  
One bunch a death,  
  
Two bunches birth,  
  
Three bunches a wedding,  
  
Four bunches mirth,  
  
Five bunches joy,  
  
Six bunches sorrow,  
  
Seven bunches love,  
  
Eight bunches tomorrow.  
  
She sat for hours leaning against the cross, rubbing at her chest. Now that she had her soul back, did she feel different? No. She felt weary. That's what she felt. And a bit lonely. Tom's wasn't the only unmarked grave.  
  
Purple is empty.  
  
Black is empty.  
  
Black is night, black is dark. Black is his heart. Black is so lonely. Black is Deatheater's cloaks. Black is shadows. Black is evil.  
  
And that's it.  
  
The color of evil is a Riddle.  
  
FIN  
  
~  
  
Beautiful blasphemy, deep red in color,  
  
Things you do with your bloody heart  
  
Green is your envy, jealous possession,  
  
Of things that was never yours from the start  
  
Orange is flames, those bright, never ashing,  
  
Burning the miasma away from your soul,  
  
Purple are flowers, thrown upon your grave wilting,  
  
Your novissima verba, your purple like coal,  
  
Power is golden, and you are power,  
  
Tempting and innocent, throwing souls in upheaval  
  
Blue are your eyes, shards of ice freezing,  
  
Black is your heart, the color of evil  
  
And all these you are, and all these are yours,  
  
And you in your purgatory, stuck in the middle,  
  
Locked in my mind, dying in darkness,  
  
The color of evil is a Riddle.  
  
~ 


End file.
